On Nirn: A Summary by the Mad-God
by ThatWinchieGuy
Summary: Sheogorath tells you about 5 heroes of Tamriel in the year 4E 204. This will probably be longer than it needs to be. Can't expect anything rational from that fellow. Oh, why am I talking about myself like that again? Haskill! Fix it!
1. Conclusion? No, that's not it Nope

**On Nirn; A Summary by the Mad-God**

**An Elder Scrolls FanFiction by: ThatWinchieGuy**

It was the year 204 of the 4th era. Yes, we all know the story of how the valiant Dohvahkiin came to power and slayed the great World-Eater. That is not the story I wish to tell. No, I wish to tell you the story of what Tamriel was like shortly after that. The Dohvahkiin was not the only hero of the 4th era, and perhaps not even the greatest. No, certainly not. In fact, I can firmly say in my right mind that the Dohvahkiin is the most overrated hero of the fourth era. First off, he was too bloody cliché. Oh, a strong-man warrior who comes in and kills dragons. Like we haven't heard THAT before. I'll admit, the shouting was intriguing, but did you really ENJOY that story? To me, the Dohvahkiin seemed a bit…stagnant? Does that even make sense? Basically, he didn't seem like a guy you want to meet in the Bannered Mare and come out piss drunk with at two in the morning. THAT'S a hero in my book. A hero of charisma. A hero of charm! The Dohvahkiin had no spunk in him! I met him, so I can say this. You didn't, you're too young.

There were heroes in the year 4E 204, though. Heroes of the breed I speak about. Heroes of charm. There were 5, in fact, spread all over Tamriel. Silly little buggers, they were. You expect me to talk about a group of bards, don't you? Well, screw that! Those are boring too. Not like mammoths, those are interesting. But, ah, a story for another time. Perhaps Morndas, eh? Never mind, all you need to know is that there's five crazy little men running rampant around Tamriel in the year 4E 204. Well, four crazy little men, the other's a….you'll find out. Oh I always do hope for the day one of those crazy Khajiit does something other than scratch up me furniture. I love cats! Just not that kind, those smell funny. Like one of those funky little blue things at the market..Ewgh.

I haven't introduced myself! Well, I did, when you wasted the 163 septims in that bookstore in Cyrodill, all to buy my stupid story! But hey, my name's on it! That's gotta be worth at least 50 of the tiny gold pieces you crazy mortals love so much. Or did you steal it from one of those bandit fellows? That's not very nice. If you did, please return this book to it's rightful owner, who is probably dead because you murdered him for the pleasure of reading me work. If you did kill him, excellent work you crazy barbarian you. That deserves a treat!

Where was I…oh yes, introductions. Every essay needs one of those if you want it to be good at all. I'm Sheogorath, Mad God of the Shivering Isles! Welcome to my book….wait, no I definitely said that already. How about we just talk about those redguards? Oh shut up, I'll get to the story at some point. That's what the book's about, right? Maybe. Anyhoo, redguards are my favorite! They always act so tough until you rip them limb from limb. And there's taffy inside of 'em! You can sell that for a good profit. Make a pretty little market stall in Anvil. How quaint. I always did enjoy market stalls. Easy to reach over the counter and strangle the vendor into giving you a fair price.

Okay, this introduction is too short….what else can I throw in here…..oh, I know! Dragons! Those silly lizards….flying is for birds, not lizards. Come back here! Get down from there! Oh they're just like Haskill here, always mucking about in the castle. Only they kill things with fire! And I do enjoy fire! And bacon. Oh yes, bacon is good. Not pigs though, they remind me of your mother. Did I mention I know your mother? Nice lady, she gave me some taffy! Why am I so obsessed with taffy today? I'm just kidding, she didn't give me taffy, she gave me something else. Wink!

Well I'm gonna get onto the next chapter soon. That's what you call them, right! That's boring, let's make up a new name for chapters. Let's call them….oh I got it! Taffy! Taffy One! There we go! See you in Taffy Two, reader! I'll start saying something that makes remote sense there. Toodles!


	2. Taffy

Alright, the story. Now, I warn you, some of the epic feats of glory and gobledegook in this story may not be suitable for children. So gather 'em round! Force 'em into adulthood and taxes when they're young, that way, when they actually are adults, they know this nonsense your stupid culture has made up. Did I mention the first story is about taxes? Wait, no, it's not. That's it! Orcs! The furry kind! The kind that makes your heart warm with teenage angst!

So, this orc, his name was Urgur gro Baluk, and Urgur didn't like Imperials. I don't either, they don't have taffy in 'em. I can't blame the poor fellow. Unfortunately for Urgur, he grew up in Cyrodill, far away from his kinsmen, and very close to those greedy Imperials. The things were everywhere! In the street, the stores, the houses, the parks, the arenas, the ruins, the dungeons, the horrible scary murder crypts, the mausoleums, the bathrooms, the outhouses, the taffy factories, the churches, the shrines, the toilets, the sewers and MOST IMPORTANTLY….the brothels. Urgur liked it there. Made sense; the bloke was two times bigger than every woman there. Bigger is better! Just like taffy factories…oh I do need to stop that. Haskill will fix it, just deal with it. What are you going to do anyways, write me an angry letter? I don't read those. Those are for children. Which you all are! Big, whimpy children. You go, kids.

Okay, so the Imperials were everywhere, and Urgur hated them, and they were in the brothels, and Urgur hated that too. And one day, Urgur had had enough. He walked into the local bar and cut off his arm, yelling some nasty curses at them. Very racist. See! Already more charismatic than that Dohvahkiin fellow. Not sure why he cut off his arm, he should've cut off everyone's arm, and then stole their sweet rolls. NOT THE POINT. Urgur was losing lots of blood and pride, and, seeing his mistake, ran to his home and tied a tourniquet around his arm. He survived, with a stump for a right arm. Not sure what he accomplished. He made it into my book! That's something! But we're laughing at him, not with him.

The next day, stupid little Urgur went back to the bar. Sitting in the middle of the room was his arm. Did I mention Urgur is absolutely insane? What, you expected a normal story from me? Anyways, Urgur took his arm home and put it in a chest. Then he went back out to the brothel. Horny little schoolboy, this one. But not even the dirtiest of skanks and hoes would sleep with him for any amount of money. I wouldn't either. Furry orcs aren't my type. But your mother, she is. Nice lady, she does good work that lady. Nice strong hands. Before I get myself in trouble, I want to say that I HATE YOU. SO VERY MUCH. Thanks for your purchase by the way. Helps me fund my army of scantily-clad women.

Anyhoo, no skank would sleep with poor Urgur, so he became a bit sad. Then he had a brilliant idea! He ran home, thudding across the cobble stone of the Imperial City. He slammed his door down; he wasn't going to be here much longer anyways. He opened the chest with his severed arm in it and took it out. Then, he went to his bedroom and gave that severed arm the best night of it's life. Didn't even use protection. My little Urgur….all grown up. Sniffle. Once he had….finished his business, he went over to the butcher, holding his severed arm in a cloth sack. The crazy bastard then sold his severed arm to the butcher for a knife, and climbed the entire White-Gold Tower with no ropes. A heroic deed! What did the Dohvahkiin do that was cooler than that? NOTHING YOU STUPID, IGNORANT, REDUNDANT, AND UGLY MORTAL!

At the top of the White-Gold tower he sat, butcher knife in hand. His mind grasped for a better time in life, when he wasn't a paraplegic psychopath who sold his arm to a butcher after releasing his juices into said arm. After thinking for a few minutes, Urgur stood up, and, balancing himself on the tip…haha…tip…..tip of the tower, began to utter a set of words. Well one word actually.

"Nope."

And then fat, stupid Urgur fell allllllllll the way down to the floor, spraying taffy onto the nearby civilians. THE END. Of that story anyways. Did you enjoy it? Still a better hero than the Dohvahkiin. He taught us so much in so little time. Let's review. What is the moral of the story? Don't be Urgur. See! Such an educator, that furry little orc. Well, that was fun. Stay tuned for more taffy filled shenanigans. I invented those, by the way. Don't do those they're copyrighted. And don't invent copyrights, those screw some people up in the future. Don't ask me in a letter either, because those are for kids. Now turn the bloody page before I WRENCH THE GUTS OUTTA YA AND SPREAD 'EM ON THE WALLS!


	3. Redundant: The Best Invention Ever

While I was taking a short break, I thought about some things, and I decided it would be splenderiferous if I wrote about them in here! Lovely idea, don't you think Martha? That is your mother's name, right? Wait, but what if Martha's reading this? In that case, Martha, I didn't screw your mother. That'd be appalling. But to all you other nasty buggers, I DESTROYED HER. I'M SURPRISED YOUR MOTHER CAN EVEN WALK ANYMORE. Anyways, I thought about taffy….got that whole goop outta me system, and I'm on to a new food….cheese! Oh how I love cheese. It reminds me of an Argonian's feces, all yellow and pungent. Delicious! And there are so many kinds! Cheddar, Gouda, Khajiit, Nordic, Bleu, Red, Green, Grass, Roses, Chicken, Flesh of the Innocent, Children, Cow, Goat, Chunky, Not so Chunky; Oh I could go on for days. I might have a statue made in my image. OUT OF CHEESE! A splendid idea! That way when I'm all sad I could melt me statue away and make a nice sandwich. You get a sticker, good sir! A prize! An award! All for myself! No thanks to you, you worthless pile of cow shit. You could make a nice cheese out of that, actually…..not so worthless after all!

Another thing I like is wine! Makes even me dear old Aunt Carol a hoot! She's a boring person when sober, always talking about how good the economy is going or whatever. Sod the economy; I want a damn Cheese Airship, Aunt Carol! Oh but it's going so well, Sheo! DON'T BACKSASS ME! CHEESE AIRSHIP IT IS! Next order of business! I hate that phrase. Order what? A business steak? What order? What am I even talking about? DON'T JUDGE ME OR I'LL SHRED YA LIMB FROM LIMB! Sorry, I get like that sometimes. Happens when I don't drink me cheese. Drink, you ask? Why can't a man drink a bottle of melted cheese without being hassled? Better than you alcoholics. Bloody drunks are what you all are. Just like Aunt Carol.

Oh shut up, I'll get to the story. Is it really THAT interesting? Why, so you can "study my language?" My language is insanity. If you study that stuff for long enough, then maybe, just maybe, you can become that high class whore you've always dreamed about being. You can do it! You're special! Just like the other 10 million people on the planet! Maybe being special is the new normal. Just like Blood Smeared Daedric Worship Robes are the new black. Oh I do enjoy them, those daedra worshippers. Always bringing me little gifts, calling me beautiful. I wonder if they're homosexual. Do they like me? LIKE like me? Hehehehehe! But we're just friends.

This is fun! Let's talk about Nords! I hate those, too. I hate most mortals. Except you, you're special. Except if you're a Nord. Then I don't think you're special, I think you belong in a mental hospital. Such a bad sense of fashion! Horns on everything! Horns, horns, horns, always with the shouting and yelling AHHH SOVNGARDE or something. I don't get it. Why would you want to spend the afterlife with a bunch of naked men drinking? There's no fun in that. Silly Nords. Why, there's no taffy! Or cheese! Or sweet rolls! It gives me the shivers just thinking about it! I ought to do something about that. No one, not even a Nord mortal fool, should have to suffer without a fine cheese in the afterlife. IT SHALL BE DONE. And what is it with the women up there? Why do they all look like they get bludgeoned by a steel hammer every day? Crooked noses, fat, ugly, stupid, redundant….oh I love that word. RE-DUN-DANT! SAY IT WITH ME EVERYONE! RE-DUN-DANT! That word deserves an award. So useful. Not sure what it means.

And always calling everyone milk drinkers. What is that? Am I supposed to be offended? I enjoy a nice, wholesome, glass of milk now and then. It's part of a balanced breakfast you savages! A boy needs his milk to grow up nice and strong and be that lame, cliché hero he always wanted to be! Not like Urgur, he didn't drink his milk. And look where that got him. One butcher knife richer. On second thought, don't drink milk, kiddies, it's bad for you. Who invented milk? On Nirn, I mean, I invented it here. I invented everything here! I love me Shivering Isles. But in all seriousness, who was the bloke that decided to firmly tug on a large animal's groin area? That man deserves an award. Dairy products are the best.

Awards! I love those too. Gold ones, Silver ones, that other crappy metal that nobody cares about if you got the award made out of it, all they know is you lost. What is that called again? Bronze! That's it! Bronze! The "you tried" metal! If you have an award made out of the same material as an old shield, you suck. There's no other way to put it. KILL YOURSELF AND SAVE THAT DRUGGED UP BANDIT THE TROUBLE YOU WORTHLESS, IGNORANT, STINKY, REDUNDANT….RE-DUN-DANT! There's my word again! What was I yelling about? Oh sod it. Redundant is much better! Give it an award! A plaque! Actually, I'm going to go tell Haskill to make a large plaque, for riiiiiiight here in the palace.

_REDUNDANT_

_THE BEST INVENTION OF MORTALS EVER_

That'll be what it says! Now I deserve a plaque! A creativity plaque! Can you make cheese out of plaques?


	4. The Little Breton That Couldn't

Ahhhhh shut up, I'm getting to the story. Bunch of complainers is what you all are. You'll never be as good as your daddy. Such a talented man, your daddy. Dear old dad. Turns out the apple does fall far from the tree; in your case it does. Bloody failure.

So, hero number two…it could be anyone, really. It could be me! Or you! Probably not you, because, as we've gone over, you're a failure. But no, this little guy was a Breton. And when I say little, I mean little. Like the size of me pinky finger. Well, not really. But he was short. NEXT! And he was angry; what fun guy isn't secretly angry inside? He was angry because Skyrim; land of the drunken crazy horned bastards, had too little of a certain item. I wonder what it could be? Skooma? No, not Skooma. Getting warmer….come on….almost there…..oh dammit, you've walked past it you bleeding idiot. It was right there! Wow, aren't you on a roll today…..

But what our little Breton sought was not Skooma. It was….get this… the freaking weirdo wanted some camels. Don't ask me why; my guess was that he wanted to have some romantic nights out with them. But our hero craved camels! LARGE CAMELS! SHORT CAMELS! HOMOSEXUAL CAMELS! ALL SORTS AND KINDS OF CAMELS! But mainly homosexual ones. Those flamboyant rascals, always playing their sexual games and whatnot. See, even a camel is more interesting than you. They spit on things! Oh, I do love it when they spit on things. Gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling in my toes. So much fun.

So one night, our hero stumbled out of the Winking Skeever in Solitude, and went down to the docks-as he did every night- to try and see if anybody was selling camels. Nobody was: I sure as hell would. Those things are magnificent. Imagine it now; a squadron of camels, flying in through your window, spraying saliva down upon the unholy. That is something I'd pay to see. Not that I care; I can just spawn me own money. Perk of being a Daedric prince. You wouldn't understand, you're not part of the club. It's a secret club, nobody can join. Especially you, being retarded and all. You go.

So Mr. Breton couldn't find camels-again- and so he went back to his house and began tying another part of his noose. Every day he could not buy a camel, the noose got larger, and soon he would just end it all. Quite sad, actually. Sorry if that ruined your day. It made mine better! Suicide is exciting! No blood comes out though. That's always disappointed me at hangings. Which is why there's no hangings in the Shivering Isles, and the only execution is death by group of heavily armed, scantily clad blue and gold women. Aren't I great? I am.

So this was Mr. Breton's everyday schedule; Drink his brains out, look for camels, tie a part of a noose, and go to bed. One day, our dear hero had had enough. He stormed down to the docks, yelling, "I demand camels! Someone bring me a camel!" A man walked up to him, and asked why he wanted a camel so badly. Mr. Breton couldn't give the fellow an answer; even though a perfectly meaningful answer is just a few paragraphs up. Seriously; the unholy atheists covered in camel spit would be awesome. There is no possible way any man of class can deny that.

The fact that our hero couldn't come up with a reason bothered him; he didn't sleep for days. Was his whole life a lie? Why did he want a camel? Why did he NEED a camel? Turns out, he didn't know why. Mr. Breton had wasted his whole life on it. Kind of like how I devote my life to driving elderly women crazy. I don't know why I do it; I just do. Oh they're so much fun. Any woman past 60 needs to go insane, pronto. You don't know what you're missing out on. Being insane is so much fun! Why, look at me! All I have time to do is write some crazy nonsense and eat cheese! And order statues made of cheese! And sell cheese! And cocaine! Would you like some cocaine?

Mr. Breton couldn't handle the agony of not having a purpose and hung himself. The end. But seriously, let's talk about cheese again; it's my favorite. And pigs. Those are interesting. Who invented those? On Nirn, I mean; obviously I invented them here. I invented everything here. Including that rule about not pissing at 6:34 P.M. If you have to piss at 6:34 P.M in the Shivering Isles, you either hold it or die. My subjects love that rule. They love all my rules! They have to! Otherwise I'll HAVE THEM RIPPED LIMB FROM LIMB AND SOLD TO DEMENTIA'S BUTCHERS. Mortals taste delicious. It's sort of like a fine wine, only humanoid remains. Mmmm…..

**Dear Viewers…..**

**This Fic has received more praise then I had anticipated. While I have told some of you this next piece of information, others have not heard the news and I wish to tell it publicly. **

**Originally, this fic was to be a short, 6 chapter side project to my main piece of work, Star Fox: My Life is Yours (which is phenomenal in my eyes, if you enjoy deep, thought provoking writing I suggest you check it out), but as I have seen that many Elder Scrolls fans are interested in seeing more of this, I've decided to extend this fic by about 5 or 6 more chapters. It's actually quite easy to come up with Sheogorath lines-for me anyways- and I enjoy writing as Sheogorath. Expect to see this fic end at about 12-15 chapters. Thank you all, and don't forget to review, follow, and favorite.**

**P.S- If the fic receives an even greater amount of love, I may consider extending it further. Thank you again. **

**-ThatWinchieGuy**


	5. Death to Bleu Cheese!

But seriously, let's talk about this guy for a second. First off, why in my holy name was he looking for camels in Skyrim? There's so many better places to find them! There's so many better places PERIOD. Skryim really does stinky. Quite literally in fact; smells like those furry little orange things in the sewer. Don't eat those, I learned from experience. Nearly lost me pinky fingers. And where would I be without those? Probably dead in some pit in Argonia.

Argonia smells too. Not like little furry orange creatures, but like a race of "civilized" lizards trying to pass themselves off as humanoids. You're not fooling me, Argonians. You may be fooling them, but not me. Nothing fools me. Except fools. That's their job though, to fool people. Like that crazy little Imperial….what was his name again…C…..Cic…Chicken? Chicken the Imperial? That's it! Crazy little bugger, I love him to bits, always running around screaming about his mummy. And he wears a cute little hat! That's worth at least 3 points.

I don't like Hammerfell either. Hammerfell's almost as bad as Skyrim. Except blazing hot. Seriously, how do those Redguards do it? Just sitting about in the sun all day wearing those big belts. Oh, I do love those big belts they have. The big leather ones with the gold buckles. Come to think of it, the Redguards probably have the best sense of style on Nirn. Nords are weird, with the horns and all, Khajiit…best not to talk about them, Altmer just dress like big-shots when they really can't do anything but shoot flaming sex toys out of their hands, Bosmer are always wearing that skin tight armor, Dunmer are the same way just with darker colors, Argonians just walk around with all their lizardy bits hanging out, Orcs always have to wear that big green armor, ALWAYS, and Bretons always wear those weird cloak things that look like bed sheets. Imperials are alright; they at least look like they're trying. But Redguards! They're quite dapper if I do say so myself! Not as dapper as me, because purple never gets old, but they're close, I suppose! They're the bleu cheese to my cheddar! Bleu cheese is terrible. Especially in wine. And you can't make awards out of it. Bleu cheese has no purpose and never will. All it does is show up on your salad from time to time, and when it does you're kind of sad because it makes it worse. Silly bleu cheese, always trying to make it about you…..There goes those three points.

Someone needs to mass produce cheese. Not like a farm, but they need to make a machine that just spawns cheese into the lovely, putrid planet that is Nirn. Of course, I could make that here, but the cheese here is terrible; mostly because insane people make it. Insane people can't make cheese. Except me. I can make cheese. But there's no fun in waiting for three years to have a cheese that's good enough. It just takes too long. I don't have time for that, I've got things to do! Like writing a book for some silly idiot on Nirn to read! That's the true measure of success! How many idiots is it going to take to realize that this book is utter nonsense? You can't possibly believe these stories. A suicidal orc and a camel thirsty Breton? But a daedra said it; they're all knowing. So maybe it is true. Oh screw it, just read the damn thing you stupid mongrel. You'll get those points back soon enough. Should we keep points? Is that fair? I don't know, I don't think Aunt Carol will appreciate us objectifying her like that. Then again, maybe objectification will get her to stop yelling at me to fix the economy. On second thought, strip that woman down and make her dance! For fat people! Drunk fat people! Oh, Auntie, I'm sure you'll love it! Oh stop it, get up there, give it a try!

I know what we need now! We need to revisit our old friend taffy! How are you? Are the children doing well? Oh they are? That's unfortunate; those kids need a beating. Carol, fetch me my Redguard big-belt! We're going kiddie hunting! I hate kids so much. That's why there's none in the Shivering Isles. And if someone is pregnant it's the law to dropkick them. And if you don't, I'll RIP OFF YOUR FEET AND FEED 'EM TO HASKILL. Haskill here loooooooooves feet. Adores them. They're his favorite. But seriously, taffy is wonderful. I need more taffy here. I need more everything here, except kids and people. Can I just replace everyone in the Shivering Isles with taffy? Eh, but then I wouldn't have people to force to follow my idiotic laws. So maybe I can go without. Even though I can just create things. That's not fair, not to you, not to me, not to Urgur, not to Aunt Carol, not to anybody!


	6. Mucking it Up

**Sorry about the long wait; I've had a lot of stuff going on in my life, and I've just found it really hard to invent new Sheo lines. This WILL get finished, so help me. Trust me. Please? Oh who am I kidding, who's going to trust a guy that could snap at any second? **

**-ThatWinchieGuy/Sheogorath**

Now that our cheesy discussion is out of the way, let's advance on towards the next idiot. So there's a woman, and she is a Dunmer. Those people always seemed so angsty to me. "Oh no, Azura is our REAL god. Oh no, everyone in Skyrim hates us blah blah bleh." They may just be my least favorite race of mortal. Not a single one of them likes taffy! Not a single one of 'em! But one thing they do like is pointy daggers. And I do like pointy daggers. And hats! Hats are the best! Did I ever mention that Haskill is named after hats? Well, he is! Or rather, he was supposed to be. I forgot the other thing I named him after. Probably some mutated form of cow.

So this woman, her name was Ihateveryone Alot. Yes, her parents were stange. Everyone knows that name has two D's! "Oh, we wanted to be unique and blah blah bland." Oh shut up you, you just want attention. No, your pointy dagger doesn't impress me. No, wearing all black is not a new thing. No, no, no. Shut up. All of you. So anyways, Ihateveryone was a very angry little girl. That was because nobody liked her. She couldn't understand why. Maybe it's because her name was misspelled.

Or maybe it's because she was a prostitute. That might have had something to do with it, I'm not sure. Personally, I would love to be a Class-A whore. That'd be so much fun! Stabbin' folks that don't pay up with the pointy dagger hidden in me bloomers! Watching the taffy spew out of their parts into my parts! That's what that stuff is, right?

So Ihateveryone was hated by everyone, and she didn't like people either, but she had to have sex nonchalantly with them for money, so that was awkward. And she was underage, but that guards didn't know that, and even if they did, they probably wouldn't stop her. They were some of her best customers! So muscly! And smelly. And fungus…. Fungus?

Mushrooms are so interesting. Like, what's up with those little buggers? All I know is, the more insane of you mortals makes some sort of healing potion out of them or something, a potion I want noooooo part of. Seriously, you can't just heal people like that. It's gotta come from the heart people! Give it your all out there kiddies!

On a particularly cold night, Ihateveryone was approached by a particularly shifty looking Argonian, who was seeking out her services. Which she graciously offered. Then she got the diseases and died. Wasn't that an uplifting tale of wondrous deeds? Oh I mucked it up, I forgot to mention the chicken. Oh, I should just kill myself, I'm so useless. See, I really connect with my characters. I feel for them.

**Sorry about the short chapter, at this point I'm trying to work my way back into writing as Sheogorath since I haven't done it in a while. **


	7. Variety: Nature's Stool Softener

I really hate chickens. Seriously, they're evil! Trying to take me damn cheese! That's mine! All of this stuff is mine! Seriously, there's so much stuff in Tamriel. So much stuff on Nirn! And it's all mine! I own it! Nobody else! You can keep your false illusions of ownership; all creation is mine to keep. Mine to treasure. Mine to destroy like last year's undergarments. None of it is yours. What? You actually thought you mattered? To anybody? Not even your own mother loves you, and she's dying of lymphoma. Is that a thing that mortals understand yet? No? Oh, I mean she's POSSESSED BY DEMONS AND SHE'S GOT TO GO. WORTHLESS. ALREADY DEAD. LOOK AT HER. THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO SAVE HER. WHAT A WORHTLESS SACK OF CHICKEN TURDS YOU ARE. WORTHLESS, ALL OF YOU, WALLOWING IN YOUR OWN FILTH. DISGUSTING…..I'm sorry, it appears I actually cared about something for a moment. I'm sure your mother is fine. They'll get the demons out with the good ol' song and dance! Like in the books!

Why can't trees be different colors? They always look so angry! Red, and brown and white with black little speckles….why can't you have blue trees? Yellow trees? Always so angry on Nirn. Here, we can have whatever color trees we want. Because I make them. If I want a turquoise tree, BAM! There it is. Freak of nature formed before your eyes! Ain't that a spectacle? It's like a dream! A horrible, skooma induced dream that you'll never wake up from because there's enough moon sugar inside you to take down a baby dragon! What a lovely thought.

Come to think of it, why can't all things be different colors? That's where the Argonians have you all beat; they come in red, green, blue, brown, yellow, dead, orange, turquois- Oh I do love turquois-, black, white, you name it! So much variety! And then there's the Nords…..always the same translucent white. Get with the times, people! The viewers want customization! Get to it, ho! And the Khajiit, they tried. They all came out looking like furry feces; brown and yellow and black, and sometimes that weird occasional green one that you get after eating corn. Corn is a thing. I like corn, but corn most certainly does not like me. The less said about that, the better. Or the worse. Depends on your tastes, really. I don't own you; I can't tell you how to live your life. Or can I? I can! I can't? Who am I? Where am I? What? DAMN IT ALL, HASKILL IT'S HAPPENING AGA…..

_Please excuse the violent handwriting. Our Lord Sheogorath tends to be quite….moody._

_-Haskill, Chief Advisor to Our Lord, Sheogorath._

Now that me shirt's all cleaned up, time to write some more. Let's have a chit chat about food. Specifically, finger food! Finger licking good finger food! Suck on the bones, finger licking good finger foods! Frozen finger licking good finger foods made out of fingers! FINGERS! That's such a strange word… it always looks like it's misspelled. She just isn't understood, that's all. Everything will be fine, the word fingers, you'll find a nice young man and live a normal life….no need to hurt yourself anymore young one. Now, off to bed with you. Goodnight sweetie, don't overdose on mushrooms or I swear on my mother I'll rip out your dead, rotting teeth and throw them at innocent bystanders on the street. Goodnight.

What else can we talk about….hmmmm…. competitions! There's so many kinds! Sporting, writing, cheese-making, cooking, eating, sweating, killing, innocent killing, unjust killing of innocents, art…..lovely. Variety really soothes me stomach; makes me feel centered. I just don't feel right if there's no variety.


End file.
